The Doctor vs Nightmare
by HolodocDR
Summary: This is in response to an EMH Persona Challenge posted on ASC by Rob Morris in March 2001. A a fictional doctor was to exist among the physician profiles included in the Doctor's programming. I picked Marvel Comics' Dr. Strange, Sorcerer Supreme of Earth


The Doctor vs. Nightmare  
  
Title: The Doctor vs. Nightmare  
  
Author: HolodocDR  
  
Series: VOY-Marvel Universe xover Rating: [PG]  
  
Codes: Doc, Kes, crew Disclaimers: ST Voyager & its crew are property of Paramount.  
  
Dr. Strange & Nightmare are property of Marvel Entertainment Group. Note: This is in response to a challenge posted on ASC by Rob Morris on March 5th 2001 (Subj: EMH Persona Challenge), in which a fictional doctor was to exist among those physician profiles included in the Doctor's programming. I thought Dr. Strange would make an interesting addition (For those who are not familiar with Dr. Strange, a concise history may be found at ). That part of the story resembles a typical early Stan Lee / Steve Ditko Dr. Strange tale; I thought I'd go easy on the Doctor this first time out. I hope - as this is my first time out with a fan fiction - that you folks go easy on me as well.  
  
The EMH Project was in its final stages, with a demonstration set in two months. There was only one aspect of the program's development which daunted developer Dr. Lewis Zimmerman. This time, he was certain he'd had it solved. Unfortunately, not only was the procedure revolutionary, it was extremely dangerous. The concept was a recurrent theme in AI mythos, but unheard of in actual practice. Lewis considered the stigma which attached itself to that pursuit, and realized he could count on only one person to assist him: Haley. In truth, she was not really a person but a hologram of his own design. He'd spent years perfecting the behavioral subroutines that were used in her matrix, and the results were dazzling. She was every bit a real person to him. But programming a persona to be used for the Emergency Medical Holographic program Starfleet had commissioned him for would mean starting from scratch. He didn't want to have to do that. The extensive work involved in developing a fully interactive - and believable - profile was something he wanted to avoid, particularly with the deadline so close at hand. So after much calculating - and with his assistant Reginald Barclay on leave to visit his mother - Lewis and Haley took the big step. It almost killed him. When medics answered Haley's urgent call, she concealed Lewis' intent with a fabrication as agreed: his condition was blamed on a freak power surge from an old headset. His stay in Jupiter Station Hospital's IC unit took longer than anticipated. The doctors were baffled by his inability to regain consciousness after two days, when readings indicated that he should have fully recovered. On the sixth day, Lewis suddenly emerged from his coma in uncanny good health. Tests revealed no discernable brain damage, only those neurological disorders one might expect from one who had survived a nonfatal electrocution. Another two weeks of treatment and physical therapy, and he was as good as new. When Zimmerman was finally sent home, he refused to discuss the incident with anyone, including Haley. He behaved oddly: keeping to himself and saying very little. Haley tried to reason that he was hardpressed to meet the deadline, but she wasn't entirely convinced. To cut down time, he based the physician's personality on his own. It already looked like him, so why not? Once the new personality subroutines were configured, there was only one more thing left to be done. Not even Haley knew what that final procedure consisted of, or what its purpose was. If she noticed any strange quirks in him since his return home, she didn't show it...  
  
Kes was worried. Nobody had seen the Doctor since 21:00 hours the previous day - some sixteen hours prior. At about that time, a Class Two nebula they skimmed disrupted the ship's entire technology. Senior officers feared the worst had become of their chief medical officer. However, when asked, the computer insisted that the EMH was online and located in Sickbay. Torres and Kim ran a diagnostic of the ship's sensors, but could detect no malfunction. Tom Paris took an afternoon shift in Sickbay to keep the young Ocampan company and help out. Although he would never express it openly, he shared her concern for the Doc. He watched the hologram evolve into a fully realized individual, and Paris was more than convinced that the Doctor was more than just the result of a shrewdly configured program. Somewhere along the line, the Doctor became a genuine person. But he could not deny that, despite all, the EMH was not like the rest of the crew. He existed by virtue of an entirely different set of properties. Paris reasoned how unusual could the hologram possibly be from any other nonhuman species on board? Kes sat in the office and pondered the empty case which normally contained the Doctor's mobile emitter. The computer reconfirmed that his program had been uploaded from the Sickbay systems. If they could only determine where in sickbay the mobile emitter was located and why it reported the Doctor's status as active, their problem would be solved. She decided to take another walk around Sickbay, again where he would most likely to have been when the power fluctuations occurred. She walked by Tom, who stood at the surgical station, asking the computer every possible variation of question which might provide a different answer or clue. Kes wandered behind Biobed One in the dimmed surgical bay for the fifth time, and went down on her hands and knees. Perhaps it bounced underneath something? Suddenly, she caught sight of the mobile emitter in the shadows of an instrument cart. She smiled and grabbed hold of her find. Then, startled, she let go. She straightened and took a deep breath. What had just happened? "Computer: raise lights in the surgical bay to 80 percent." Slowly, with trembling fingers, she took hold of the device and tried again. A sickening sensation churned in her gut, and again she released it. It took her many moments to inwardly compose herself. Finally, her voice worked: "Tom! Tom!" The helmsman ran over. "What is it, Kes?" He stood over her as she pointed to the mobile emitter. She took it and lifted it off the floor by a few inches. Paris' mouth fell ajar. Black material was attached to the underside of the emitter; it ended at the floor as though melted through.  
  
After a nervous gulp, Paris encouraged Kes to scoot over. He squatted down and clasped the mobile emitter, then stood up very slowly...  
  
...The Doctor appeared as though his image grew out from the floor. Once his face was clear of the surface, they could see that his expression was a cross between disorientation and terror. As exposed mass began to take on substance, Tom found it increasingly difficult to raise his arm. With his torso and arms exposed, the hologram managed to lift the rest of his projected form out from the oblivion he fell prisoner to over sixteen hours earlier. Kes couldn't begin to imagine the ordeal the Doctor had endured. He was uncharacteristically quiet, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth agape. It must have been in the programmed equivalent of shock. When she helped him up, his grip on her shoulder was firm and lingering. "Are you all right, Doc?" Paris said, who also noted the hologram's disconcerted expression. Now addressed, the EMH snapped into lucidity. "My magnetic containment field suddenly destabilized," he explained. "I fell into the floor and was unable to extricate myself." "That must have been terrible!" Kes gasped. She impulsively rubbed his arm. "It was interminable," the Doctor replied, still a bit stunned. He was certain that his sense of touch was different from that of biological humanoids, but he still derived comfort from Kes' gesture. For him, it was the thought that count. "I'll be okay. A busy afternoon in sickbay and I'll be fine." All three looked around at the empty biobeds, then at each other. Paris, eager to get back to the bridge, excused himself and left. The Doctor sighed. "Well, Kes: I suppose it's time you learned the fine art of the appendectomy..."  
  
It had been a long day for Kes. First with the Doctor missing, then learning multiple variations of a simple yet significant surgical procedure. Add to that Ensign Kyoto's sprained wrist, and finally supper with Neelix. Kes was concerned for the Doctor at first. When he was discovered, still active but not projected, his expression had been so very disconcerting. She was sure that - had he been of flesh and blood - his complexion would have been stark white. Having worked with him closely for over two years, Kes didn't need to see any superficial physiological phenomena to know what was going on in his head; she knew the Doctor didn't think that much differently from anybody else. She put down her PADD of review notes and retired for the night. Sleep came easy as always, and Kes welcomed the familiar floating sensation. She often visited the produce gardens of Ocampa in her dreams - those hidden areas where determined citizens grew their own crops in an effort to become more self-sufficient. But this time, the hidden gardens of Ocampa would not be her destination. Coming up beneath her was a dark, ominous hillside of parched vegetation. As she landed by the lone, bare tree on a hill, she saw down the dark road a figure on a horse...  
  
"Sickbay to Kes." She was rarely late. And even so, she would have contacted him. It was 0900. His protégé was now late by two hours and still not answering her combadge. He decided to contact Lieutenant Tuvok again. "Yes, Doctor?" "Kes still has not reported to Sickbay. Nor is she responding to pages." There was a pause. No doubt the Vulcan was trying to contact her himself. Finally: "Meet me outside Kes' quarters, Doctor. Tuvok out."  
  
"She appears to be asleep." "Very observant, Lieutenant." The Doctor ran the diagnostic component of his tricorder along the length of Kes' body, lingering over her forehead. "Hm. Her health is fine. No unusual activity in her hypothalamus. Engrams are normal. By all accounts, she should wake up when we-" He suddenly stopped speaking in mid-sentence. The hologram appeared to stare byond the tricorder in his hand, as though listening intently to some inner voice. After many seconds, he blinked his eyes back into focus and looked up. This abrupt interruption didn't escape Tuvok, who noted that it was not the Doctor's usual reaction to data input from the Sickbay Systems database. He tilted his head and tried to gauge the EMH's expression. The Doctor stood up slowly, staring at Kes' sleeping form. Then: "Lock the door, Lieutenant." "Doctor?" "We cannot afford to be interrupted by anyone or anything - under any circumstances." "May I ask what your scans have revealed?" "As I reported: nothing." The Vulcan arched and eyebrow. "What is happening to Kes cannot be explained in technological terms, and I haven't the time to elaborate. I need you to guard us and see to it that no one opens that door. Can I count on you, Lieutenant?" This was a highly irregular request for the EMH to make. Tuvok considered that perhaps the Doctor's program might have been malfunctioning. However, he realized that he himself had been guilty of the same request while undergoing any intense mental exercise. Provided the hologram did nothing to bring any further harm to the Ocampan, he could think of no reason not to let him proceed. Tuvok had the door lock encrypted with his command codes. The Vulcan then returned to the bedroom. "What have you learned, Doctor?" The Doctor took Kes into his arms and gently set her down on the carpet. "I'm not sure," he said, "only that I know what I have to do to bring her back. It's in my programming to take specific measures under these circumstances." He sat cross-legged above her head and looked up at Tuvok. "This may appear somewhat irregular, but you must trust me. I will bring her back." Tuvok looked down his nose at the EMH for a long moment. "Very well," he said, "you may proceed." The Doctor nodded, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Tuvok would never admit his amusement over this unnecessary function practiced by the hologram. With no one present to observe him, he allowed his face to relax into a less defensive expression. He watched with familiarity as the Doctor went through the motions as though reaching a meditative state. For a moment, the hologram took on a shimmering glow. Then, all was still.  
  
The first thing the Doctor became conscious of was that he was looking at his own body. He noticed Tuvok's bright aura - an astral glow about the body. He wondered whether the Vulcan had ever reached this state of existence during his own spiritual pursuits. For a moment, Tuvok looked right at him, startling the Doctor, who suddenly viewed the Vulcan from behind his shoulder. "Incredible," he said silently, "I can be anywhere with a thought!" And with that, the Doctor's consciousness darted about the room. He was absolutely exhilarated. But when he came to exist by Kes, his revelry abated. Her aura was dingy, contaminated. Something ugly had a hold on her life's essence. Even had he not been her mentor, he would have pursued this just as his programming dictated. But this was Kes. Although he could never admit it, he adored her as one of his own. Sometimes she was like a big sister. But most of the time, he looked upon the young Ocampan as a daughter... he thought of Belle. His mind had strayed again. He had to practice the utmost discipline while in this condition. It was very easy to get carried away with emotion. Here, thought threatened to become as undefined as the dimensions of his astral form. He gazed down at Kes' sleeping face. If she was in distress, there was no outward indication. He sighed and considered his next move. The prospect of sinking himself into her Ajna brought a sudden shudder; his recent ordeal in Sickbay was still fresh in his mind. All at once, a tangle of tentacles shot out from the center of Kes' forehead. They wrapped around the Doctor's limbs and throat. Asphyxiation. An interesting sensation. Interest quickly deteriorated into panic. He struggled frantically, but their hold on him was strong. In an instant, the Doctor was somewhere else.  
  
He was thrown against the charred ground on a hillside, where a dead tree loomed overhead. He had never been here before. But as the Doctor got to his feet, he noted that the landscape seemed somehow vaguely familiar. His gaze stopped where the road met the horizon. He folded his arms and waited. As if on queue, a cloud of black dust made its way towards his location, accompanied by the sound of hooves. He waited patiently. Gradually, forms could be made out in the clouds of dirt: entities as familiar as the terrain. No doubt for shock value, the party made a spatial leap from a kilometer away to right where he stood in the space of a microsecond. A dark horse with fiery eyes bucked over the Doctor, its flailing forelegs barely missing his head. He merely folded his arms and rolled his eyes. "If this is the best you can do..." he sighed. Although its face was in perpetual shadow, the Doctor knew that the entity was glaring down at him from its mount. Nightmare was gaunt, with garb of dark mesh. Its hair was a shock of black, its skin chalky white. Trailing from its shoulders was a cape so dark, it absorbed light like a void. "I know for whom you come," Each syllable of Nightmare's words were like a thousand screams. "But she is mine, now. Her psychic energy is strong, and she will empower me for eons." The Doctor lowered his hands to his sides with clenched fists. He frowned. Nightmare laughed. "I know your kind," the entity sneered. "Strange thought that if he could endow an artificial intelligence - one which did not dream - with the means to oppose me, that I could be more readily defeated." Nightmare caught the Doctor's confused expression. "You mean, you didn't know?" It laughed heartily for quite some time, then indulged him: "Doctor Stephen Strange has been Sorcerer Supreme of your dimensional universe for the past four hundred years. He was first a practitioner of the Medical Arts. But somewhere along the line, he answered to far different calling, and learned the disciplines which would enable him to enter realms such as mine." Nightmare sneered. "And curse him! I have yet to defeat the cursed magician, even after all these centuries. But he is getting old and weak; even the slowing of his human aging process - which comes with the position - is now starting to take its toll. He found in your creator a collaborator." The Doctor did not know the specifics as to why the profile of a neurosurgeon turned sorcerer was included in his programming, only that it had. And even that information wasn't apparent to him until Kes' condition triggered the imperative. "You are not the first artificial invader to my realm." Nightmare remarked as his steed taunted the Doctor by stomping in his way, causing him to constantly step back or to the side. He made it a point not to display frustration. The entity continued. "Your predecessors may well have been endowed with knowledge as to what their task entailed, but they lacked the skill, the patience, the mental discipline. They were as soulless creatures, having never known they possessed such an essence. For only souls may transcend the material realm and visit mine." It bent low with a white grin set in shadow. "And when that moment arrived - for that essence to separate from their artificial bodies..." It broke into laughter which resembled the screams of gale force winds through the desert ruins of Somnerus Prime. "...Why, the poor things couldn't bear the sudden lack of protocol, much less negotiate sensations only listed in their mental databases! They were their own worst enemies, and succumbed to spells a novice could deflect with but a shrug!" The Doctor listened with fascination to Nightmare's brag. Was this possible? Did every EMH possess a soul? Till the moment of his astral release, the Doctor assumed his essence was merely the result of accumulated experiences, a by-product of his pursuit to enrich the quality of his life aboard Voyager. All his activities in addition to his programmed dictates as chief medical officer: Hobbies, interests, friendships - the experiences which allowed him to become a fully realized individual: romantic encounters, fraternizing with the crew during social occasions, the death of his holographic daughter during his venture into family life - these he thought created what he had come to recognize as his soul. Now he was told that, from his first moment of activation, it was there all along, merely dormant and awaiting his cultivation. And it wasn't just a fluke of brilliant programming; Dr. Zimmerman did something undocumented to all his Mark I's. But what? And why? What in all existence would have inspired a spiritual cynic like Zimmerman to even consider such a notion? While he was engrossed with the entity's droning and his own ponderings, Nightmare's steed suddenly lashed out and kicked the Doctor in the head with a hoof. Since pain was not a part of his life, the sensation overwhelmed him instantly. He writhed on the ground, unable to concentrate. All he could sense was white light behind his eyes. Somewhere amidst dizzying confusion his mind spewed in its distress, he managed to reason that if he didn't regain control of his faculties, he was sure to fall prey to yet another assault. He delved for something to latch onto mentally, something to focus on and help bring his sensibilities back into order. Nightmare's laugh. He took hold of it with his thoughts, wrapped his mind around it and dissected it. He analyzed each strain of the voice. Suddenly, he had the very human urge to take a breath, and trained his mind on that function. As he gasped, the Doctor's sight returned to him. When he got to his knees and faced Nightmare, he noticed an odd glow about its throat. The entity gagged, and the Doctor's gut desire to heal washed over him. Almost at once, the glow dissipated. Nightmare clutched at the horse's mane for stability, and sneered at him menacingly. What had he done? And once again, having been caught off guard, he fell victim. Nightmare leapt with a primal growl off its mount and over the Doctor's head. The cape covered him...  
  
...He found himself in what appeared to be a dark, musty cavern. The walls looked ill. That was the best way to describe them. They oozed a mucous discharge, and the air carried their fetid scent. In a far corner stood Kes. The Doctor noticed the glowing bands which bound her body. A mask of the same energy covered her face; her eyes were closed. And - he could tell by the twitching in her jaw - that Kes' mouth was forced shut. The energy was a sickly shade of green, which reminded him of the fluid which accumulated in the lungs from pneumonia. This time, he made it a point to remain aware of everything around him as he observed this new locale, and worked to keep his emotions in check. It was then he realized that aesthetics in this environment catered to his deepest medical concerns... "You are only half right," said Nightmare while leaning against a tumorous growth. It quivered with discomfort where the entity's shoulder applied weight. A pus-like discharge oozed out. "You see, these are the collective infections of the sleeping ill. If you irritate or aggravate these walls," that grin in shadows again, "there may be repercussions in the waking world." The Doctor's eyes intensified and his jaw tightened. The universe's ailing populace while in slumber - their suffering converged right on this spot - with no known means for him to treat one much less all of them. It took all of his resolve to resist the profundity of the situation. Had the nagging dictates of his programming been present, the Doctor would most certainly have succumbed from his inability to act. Instead, he looked at Kes' bound spirit. He put his hand out to touch the young Ocampan's face. Some of the dull green ectoplasm enveloped his hand and bound it into a fist. For a moment, he panicked. His hands were the most valuable part of his body along with his eyes. Then, he reminded himself that he wasn't in his body. Applying the focus of a laser scalpel, the Doctor visualized excising the energy from his fist. It split apart and dissipated. With a sigh of confidence, he turned his attention back to Kes. He raised his hands and focused on her face and willed the green binding to change color. Slowly, it took on a cleaner shade. He felt something on his back, something unpleasant. Of course: Nightmare. His activity naturally hadn't escaped the entity, who apparently decided to take action. It was such an increasingly uncomfortable sensation; the first thing that came to mind was an assault of small shards of glass. Trying his best to keep breathing, he swung an arm back and channeled all his pain down the length of his arm and out to where it originated. A screech from Nightmare confirmed his success, and a fresh burst of confidence melted the shards from his back. "Doctor!" gasped Kes as the diminished energy faded from her face. Her eyes were wide with horror at the setting. And the Doctor's transparent consistency was so very disconcerting. She stared dazedly as he swept his hand down in front of her nightgown to break the green bands which constricted her body. She was confused but nevertheless fascinated with his continued actions, as he deftly reshaped the broken green rings into a large white disc. He used it as a shield against a sudden onslaught of mustard colored particles. They were deflected easily, but when the mucky substance splattered against the walls of the cavern, they could hear the moans of all the sleeping sick in a single, tormented voice. They both reeled with empathy. "We must get out of here," the Doctor managed between gnashing teeth. Kes heard the pain in her mentor's voice and nodded. Seeing as to how he appeared to be following some set procedure, the young Ocampan thought to contribute to his effort. She worked on tuning out the distressing scenario, the concentrated on the sound of his voice. She imagined it when he spoke in his usual manner, then when the first time he sang in Sickbay before his reinitialization - the look on his face when he described his new passion for opera. She was so proud of him, how in two years he had found happiness in those things which brought joy to biological beings since the dawn of all civilizations. The shield suddenly glowed twice as bright. Together, they manipulated it with their minds, until - like some hungry, ectoplasmic amoeba - it enveloped Nightmare. The entity screamed like a thousand stormy winds. The light grew to a blinding intensity, obscuring any view of cavern... ...Once again they found themselves back on the parched hillside. They stared at each other, startled and slightly disoriented. Kes' lips trembled, then her entire body. She sought the refuge of the Doctor's arms, burying her face against his chest. He impulsively embraced her, something he would not have done so readily under normal circumstances. He felt wetness on his uniform where she sobbed. For all her powers and wisdom, she was still just a little girl.  
  
Those familiar dull sensations, the steady stream of information through his consciousness... What he now came to recognize as the constraints of technology. The Doctor welcomed the comfort of its boundaries. He opened his eyes and found himself sitting cross-legged on the carpet in Kes' quarters. Opposite him, past her feet, knelt Tuvok in meditation. The Vulcan looked up when the Doctor reached for his tricorder. "Doctor. Is there a problem?" "How much time has passed, Lieutenant?" "One hundred and forty-one seconds." "Hm!" The EMH got to his knees and scrambled around to Kes' side, then ran the diagnostic wand over her. As the medical component passed above her forehead, she suddenly gasped awake. He smiled as he announced the obvious. "She's all right." He then abruptly turned to address the Vulcan: "Thank you, Lieutenant. You may go." Tuvok's face remained stoic, but his body was clearly taken aback. "I need to discuss the condition with my patient," said the Doctor nonchalantly. "Very well," replied Tuvok with a raised eyebrow. "I take it that you will log this incident-" "-I will do nothing of the sort, and neither will you." interrupted the hologram firmly. "Some things are best left off the record and not a matter of common knowledge. What happened here must never leave these quarters, nor must ever be discussed, even amongst ourselves." A pause. "I understand," Tuvok nodded coolly and strolled to the door. "Have a good evening." Once Tuvok had gone, the Doctor turned his full attention to Kes. She looked weak, exhausted. "How do you feel, Kes?" Her nostrils and mouth quivered only a moment before she threw her arms around his neck. "There there," he said quietly as he picked her up. "It's all right." In moments she was back in her own bed and tucked in. He was about to stand to leave, when she called to him. He tilted his head. "Would you stay with me until I fall asleep?" The EMH looked into her big blue eyes. He smiled with uncharacteristic warmth. "You were very brave today, Kes. You saved us both, and rescued countless others from further suffering. I will stay. It is the very least I can do." Kes heaved a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. With the Doctor nearby, she wasn't afraid to give into exhaustion. She felt cozy and thought of her father on Ocampa. Soon, the underground gardens loomed before her...  
  
A hidden optronic data file suddenly became known to him. The Doctor had considered running it with Kes. But by morning, she'd awakened with no knowledge of what had transpired in Nightmare's realm. With the entrance to Holodeck Two locked, he ran the program... A tall, gaunt, mustachioed man appeared. He wore a blue tunic, a gold sash around his waist, black leggings, and a flamboyant red cape. The cape was gathered at his throat by a large, golden bauble. His hair was as eccentric as his clothing: black with stripes of silver leading from the temples to the back of his head on either side. "Greetings," said the man in a rich baritone. The Doctor nodded. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Stephen Strange." He smiled wily smile. "I was the greatest neurosurgeon of my time, but circumstances called for a career change." "So I've heard." Dr. Strange began to pace. "In 2370, Dr. Lewis Zimmerman made a very revolutionary attempt to convert the bioelectrical impulses of his mind into a workable format with which to configure his latest venture into artificial intelligence: the Emergency Medical Hologram..." "He tried to literally transfer his mind to the matrix?" "That is correct." "But that's never been done." Strange smirked. "Actually, a Dr. Noonian Soong succeeded with a dying subject years earlier. But without Dr. Zimmerman's - or anyone else's - knowledge." "That's a risky procedure!" the Doctor winced. "It almost killed him. Lewis Zimmerman lay in a coma for one week. However, its duration should have lasted no more than two days..." "Nightmare..." hissed the EMH. "Nightmare. I rescued Zimmerman on the sixth day. In gratitude, he offered to compensate my waking counterpart in any way he could. I presented him with a proposal which would both solve his problem of perfecting artificial intelligence, while devising a means to effectively aid those in need of - shall we say - spiritual healing." "So, what Nightmare said is true: all EMH's have souls..." "It's not as simple as all that, but that is the gist. However, the plan didn't work out as well as we'd hoped." "I heard about that as well," remarked the Doctor. "You fared quite well. If you hadn't, then we wouldn't be facing each other right now. I'm sure you gave Nightmare a run for his money." Strange walked around the holographic doctor and fiddled with the ends of his mustache. "What makes you so different?" The Doctor defied scrutiny by rotating to remain consistent with Strange's revolution. "I get around." Strange stopped. His clear, grey eyes twinkled. "Have you now?" He held the Doctor by the shoulders and closed his eyes. The bauble at his throat began to glow. The center of the decorative bezel opened to reveal the apparition of an eye, which drifted to Strange's forehead. Once there, it focused a beam on the Doctor's face. The Doctor was transfixed by its glow, while every experience since his reinitialization flashed through his mind with lightning rapidity. Strange frowned, and the old, lost memories came through. The Doctor basked in this revelation, reacquainting himself with many events, which - it was believed - could only be restored to him as straight data. He was awed. In time, the eye's light faded. As it retreated back into the amulet, Strange opened his eyes. "To have loved and lost. You have done both, my friend, and so much more. You are indeed a very lucky man." The Doctor smiled. "The file which summoned me was good for this one time. We will not speak again, Doctor." "What do you mean 'summoned'?" Strange smiled a mischievous smile. "I am not a holographic simulation. When you return to the Alpha Quadrant, do look me up on Earth - in New York's Old Greenwich Village district. Regardless of what name you eventually choose for yourself, I will know it is you. Farewell, Doctor." With a final bow, Dr. Strange's astral representation was gone. The Doctor stood for quite some time in the middle of an empty holodeck, pondering the past twelve hours. Life would never be the same for him ever again. He grinned. Actually, it had just begun. 


End file.
